


An Unexpected Visitor

by jdmcool



Series: Cat's in the Cradle [2]
Category: House M.D., Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:37:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmcool/pseuds/jdmcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and House learn of the affects unexpected visitors can have on their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about medicine or mystery. Let's see how this works out. Post The Reichenbach Fall (Sherlock) and Love is Blind (House). Pre Blowing The Whistle (House).

“Can you explain to me why I’m not only letting your son stay with me, but also buying you both lunch?” Wilson asked as he sat down at their table.

Smiling, House held out his hand to Sherlock, who only rolled his eyes and handed over the five dollar bill. After all, they both knew that Wilson wasn’t going to tolerate both of them mooching off him forever, but narrowing down the exact point when his limits would be reached made it worth it. And even though it wasn’t a fair bet considering how well House knew the other man, Sherlock had still taken it and nearly won. Thankfully Wilson had been called away from their breakfast date that morning before he could complain about their behavior.

Taking a fry from Wilson’s plate, he quickly shoved it in his mouth just to bother the guy even more. “He can’t stay with me. I have Dominika there.”

“Well, she did say I could sleep with her,” Sherlock offered before going back to his food.

“Generally it’s frowned upon to sleep with your stepmother.”

“It would be purely platonic, I assure you.”

Which had to be the best lie House had ever heard. Sherlock didn’t even show any sign of being anything less than serious. Of course, House had the benefit of not being blind or an idiot. Dominika was hot and Sherlock had the benefit of looking like him a few decades ago, which was hardly fair. So he focused his attention back on Wilson rather than dwell on the feelings Sherlock’s age tended to bring up since finding out that they really were related.

“For the sake of my fake marriage, you have to watch the baby,” he said, throwing in his best look of false patheticness.

Wilson shook his head a bit angrily. “Yeah well your baby boy is a nuisance and stop that,” he said, hitting House’s hand as he tried to grab another fry. Guarding his food a bit more carefully, he added “And it’s like living with you all over again. Except instead of guitar and that organ, it’s a very annoying violin.”

“He also doesn’t care for my singing,” Sherlock pointed out casually.

Patting him on the back, House said, “Didn’t care for mine either.”

“I actually like to sleep at night. Not… Listen to someone sing bad eighties tunes or opera songs.”

“I have the voice for opera,” Sherlock said in a mocking defense of his music choice.

House would’ve laughed, but Wilson seemed like he might truly be approaching his wits end and he couldn’t have that. Sipping his drink, he held up a hand to silence his friend before the man could make any sort of comment.

“Oh come on. I feel better having him with you. Plus, it’s not exactly like dead guys have a large amount of disposable income. We’re counting on your kindness.”

A low blow, since Wilson couldn’t resist the mating call of someone in need, but House actually found himself meaning parts of it. After all, if he didn’t trust the guy, he wouldn’t have asked him to let Sherlock stay with him in. But, as it was, Wilson’s was a home away from home and a great runner up for having Sherlock actually stay at his own home. And judging by the way Wilson glared at them both, more a half hearted attempt to save face more than anything else, the matter was solved for the moment.

“He needs to play his violin at a decent hour. And get a shirt that fits,” Wilson said angrily.

“Alright,” House agreed.

Sherlock looked himself over before looking at the two of them. “My shirt fits perfectly fine.”

“It’s clearly too small. It’s buckling,” Wilson said, gesturing at one of the gaps with a ketchup covered fry.

Taking the fry away from him and eating it out of nothing more than spite, it was obvious to everyone in the cafeteria that Sherlock did not agree in the slightest. “You sound like my brother. Honestly, I can button it—“

“Barely.”

“And I like it. Why should I get a new one?”

“Because it’s too small? Unless, of course, you’re trying to attract attention to the fact that you really are a very tall, thin man,” Wilson shot back.

“Perhaps you should spend less time focusing on my slender frame?”

Snickering, House leaned back in his seat to watch the argument play out. “I think he just implied you’re gay,” he threw in, just to make sure Sherlock’s posh accent didn’t cover up any insult he might make.

Wilson glared at him. “I got that. And it it’s hard not to notice a grown man wearing clothes that are far too small for him. Because I find it hard to believe that someone didn’t teach you how to shop for proper dress clothes over the years.”

“My god how Mycroft would adore you.”

“Who?”

“His brother,” House stated. When it caused Sherlock to look at him curiously, he sighed and rolled his eyes. “Hey, Wilson is here insulting your choice to wear clothes for teenage boys, you going to let him do that?”

“My clothes fit me just fine.”

“No,” Wilson interrupted. “Your pants fit you. The shirt and jacket don’t fit you at all.”

“House, your team is looking for you,” Foreman said as he walked over.

House waved his hand dismissively at Foreman. His team could easily wait for him, unlike the tiff that Sherlock and Wilson were having. Hell, with the way it was rapidly dissolving, House was certain it wouldn’t be long before the really clever insults started coming out.

But Foreman just couldn’t take a hint. Instead of attempting to catch House’s attention, he turned his focus on Wilson and said, “Wilson, do you two think you could take this elsewhere? Dr. House has a job he needs to get back to.”

Getting up, Wilson nodded. “Course. And this isn’t done. You’re getting fitting clothes,” he declared to Sherlock, managing to make it seem almost threatening.

Sherlock only scoffed as he focused his attention back on his food, obviously not about to budge on the matter of whether or not he should wear clothes that didn’t gap awkwardly. Which left House without his previous source of entertainment and a very stern looking dean of medicine.

Taking a deep breath, he rose to his feet and stared down Foreman. “Thanks for ruining the family bonding moment.”

“Family bonding?” he questioned as it was practically written all over his face that he suspected House was just saying that to mess with him.

So, resting a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, House nodded proudly. “He’s my kid. Found out about a week ago. Sherlock, this is Eric Foreman, Dean of Medicine. He’s the pain in the ass I never wanted.”

Wiping his mouth, Sherlock rose slightly to shake Foreman’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Foreman shook his hand with a small smile. Counting down in his head, House was pleased as he could be when Foreman’s looked between the two of them, eyes widening slightly in the process.

“Wait, you’re serious? He’s your son? You… have a kid?”

“Well, I have a son. He’s a bit old to be called a kid, I think.”

“But ho… No. I don’t want to know. Just go to your and find a case,” Foreman said before walking off shaking his head.

Yet another person nowhere near ready for the reality that he had a son. Glancing over at Sherlock, who seemed to be devoting as much of his eating time to taking in every detail of the person working the register, House sighed.

“Meet me in my office when you’re done,” he said before walking away.

Not that he was all that sure that Sherlock had heard him, since House had realized fairly early on that when that man got lost in his own thoughts nothing else mattered. Very much like his own behavior, only kicked up to eleven since even he couldn’t go hours on end thinking to himself. It was almost kind of disturbing in an admirable way. Still, he knew his son would likely piece it all together in the long run, regardless, though.

Walking into his office, his team already bickering about what case seemed like the best one to go after, House sat down at the head of the table, making grabby hands at them. “Alright. Give me the best one.”

 Adams was the first to speak up, handing over the file in front of her to him. “There’s a twelve year old boy downstairs presenting with severe chest pain and—“

“Boring,” House said as he looked through it. “Anyone else actually know the definition of best?”

Chase went to offer one, but Park cut in saying, “A woman came in with abdominal pain and vomiting from a… What do you call a place that a dominatrix works in?”

“And we have a winner,” House said as he took the chart. Looking it over, it didn’t seem like much, but it wasn’t as though he took it for how the woman was dying anyways. Judging by the upset look on Adams’ face, it was clear that she seemed to understand that as well.

“So, our patient came in with severe abdominal pain after collapsing and vomiting during a whipping session. Hot,” House said as he rose from his seat.

“Aren’t you going to ask what we think it might be?” Chase asked.

“Yeah, like severe cramping and nothing else?” Adams threw in.

House shook his head. “No way. I’m going to go meet the patient.”

“Who might not even have anything,” Adams pointed out as though they didn’t realize her point already.

“She’s in a hospital, clearly she needs a doctor.”

“House,” Chase said, his warning tone coming out loud and clear.

Sitting back down, he rolled his eyes before sitting back down. “Fine. Go ahead .”

“Thank you,” Adams said crisply. “She could easily have eaten bad food.”

“Or she could have had a stroke,” Park offered.

“She was seeing a dominatrix. Maybe her last session didn’t go as well as she might have thought?” Chase casually suggested.

Something that caught Adams’ off guard more than anything since she, apparently, didn’t know about how much of a choir boy the choir boy really wasn’t.

“Severe pain can manifest in vomiting. Wouldn’t notice until she was already in the wrong kind of pain,” Taub said, clearly favoring Chase’s idea.

And it wasn’t as though Chase had a bad idea either. It was what House had originally assumed when he took the case from Park. Honestly, if it hadn’t been for Adams, he would’ve went to see her, gotten his joys and then moved on to a case that was actually interesting.

“Alright. Let’s go meet the patient. Unless, of course, Adams has anything else to say?”

Her only response was to roll her eyes. So House rose from his seat and made his way out of the room, feeling a bit eager to meet his new patient.

Upon entering the room, House almost wised she turned out to have something more interesting than internal bleeding. A shallow feeling, but she was a bit more than attractive and he was never one to claim he cared about anything more than looks from time to time. And judging by the looks on Taub and Chase, they weren’t above it either.

“Miss Aquila? We’re going to be your doctors,” Adams said, taking charge of the situation given the fact that no one else seemed ready to. “We work with Dr. House.”

“Wonderful. Though you just want to tell me I’m being a delicate flower and that everything is fine,” the patient all but purred, eyes narrowed dangerously in Adams’ direction.

A cat fight House wouldn’t usually mind seeing if not for the fact that he had a job to do. Well, a job to observe while his team did most of the actual leg work.

“So, you were visiting a dominatrix?” House questioned as Adams set about checking the patient. “Kinky.”

“I wasn’t visiting. I was being visited.”

Taub’s eyes widened slightly. “So you’re…”

“Yes. Why? Do you need to be put in your place?”

“This may be a bit cold,” Adams said.

Watching the small intake of breath Adams applied the gel for the ultra sound, House nearly prayed that this was something more interesting than a simple internal bleed. Anything but a simple internal bleed. And some nonexistent God clearly saw fit to side with him judging by the frown on Adams’ face as she finished the ultrasound.

“No bleeding.”

“I really was fine. Felt a bit dizzy and then I’m on my knees for a change, vomiting.”

“Any other symptoms I should know about?” House asked, hoping for something truly interesting.

But the no she was going to say was clearly poised on her lips. It just never came. Blinking rapidly, she shook her head and rubbed at her eyes before saying, “I think I’m hallucinating.”

“What makes you say that?” Park questioned, ready to help.

Before Ms. Aquila could answer, Sherlock walked into the room and said to his father, “You disappeared from the cafeteria.”

“Patient needed me.”

“Uh… Ms. Aquila, this is Sherlock Holmes. He’s… here. Sherlock, this is Iria Aquila.”

Looking at the woman, Sherlock shook his head. “No it isn’t.”

“So I’m not hallucinating,” the woman purred as she pulled her knees up to her chest with a smirk. “ And that is my name, actually.”

“Yes, but you’re hardly from Galician descent or Italian for that matter. Your name is nothing but German, Miss Adler.”

“Oh this is the best doctor’s visit I’ve ever had.”

Looking between the two, House frowned. “You know her?”

“Irene Adler, dominatrix. At least until she died in Karachi .”

“It would seem as though you know better than anyone how temporary death can be.”

Letting out an impressed snort, House smiled at his team and said, “Oh, there is no way I’m not taking this case.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock sat at House’s desk casually bouncing the ball while the team went through their brainstorming session about what was ailing Irene. And while part of him was curious to see how the general talking through things went when there was more than one person, he didn’t want to take part in it now. Not when he knew they were talking about Irene. Because while he knew he wasn’t any more emotionally involved in matters concerning her than he would be if it had been Molly or Anderson, well not Anderson, lying in that room, Sherlock also knew that she wasn’t his only worry.

Looking through the glass wall at them all, he locked eyes with House and narrowed his eyes slightly, a gesture that House matched with a mockingly innocent look. He was as much the enemy as whatever it was that was ailing Irene if only because the man was now more curious about him because of her. And an open, honest relationship wasn’t something they had taken to building. And that just made him yet another mystery for the man to figure out, one Sherlock figured the man might solve if he wasn’t careful.

Finally tearing his eyes away from the older man when the team started to disperse, Sherlock got up and headed out to cut them off, figuring that House would likely try to question him if he didn’t find something else to occupy himself.

“What’s next?” He asked, purely for conversational reasons.

“Adams and I are going to her house and check it out,” Park said,

Nodding, Sherlock looked to where House was standing at the coffee machine and frowned. “I’ll come with you.”

“House said you would want to,” she said before heading out.

And wasn’t that just a surprise. Looking back to where House was still watching him, he couldn’t decide if he felt amused or insulted that the man had figured him out so easily yet again. It was certainly a feeling he was getting used to the longer he knew the man, but he still couldn’t quite name what it was. Although, the moment he saw House’s self-satisfied smirk he started to understand how others might find him to be a little pompous if he was truly as bad as the other man.

Still, there wasn’t much time to waste on the curious game he seemed to be playing yet again with his father. Instead he merely made his way after Park and Adams, letting his mind drift as they made their way to Irene’s home. House had definitely taught his team well from the way they casually continued to brainstorm on the way there, though judging by the way that Adams kept glancing at him, he knew that it was just her polite way of avoiding whatever subject it was that she wanted to bring up. Likely a question of morality having to do with what it was that Ms. Adler happened to do for a living.

It wasn’t until they were standing on the porch as Sherlock unlocked the door did she finally ask, “So you and this woman, you know each other?”

Slightly off from what he had expected her to want to ask, but he knew better than most that he wasn’t always correct. Whether the idea that he might visit a dominatrix was behind it or the fact that Irene appeared to know him so well didn’t matter. The only important part was figuring out what exactly the woman had gotten herself into this time around.

“Like, you know each other well?”

Rolling his eyes as he unlocked the door, Sherlock turned toward her and said, “Yes. Well enough.”

“So you’re into the kinky stuff?” Park asked, sounding more impressed then surprised.

“I’m married to my work and there’s nothing particularly… kinky about that,” he said, continuing to mull over the word in his head.

Walking into the house, he began carefully taking in the surroundings. It was almost perfectly like her home back in England, an affect that was, no doubt, done on purpose. Recreating a small part of home when going back wasn’t an option. A sentimental action he would’ve looked down on if not for the fact that he found himself running his hand along the riding crop resting on the coffee table.

“Fond memories?” Park asked as she snapped her fingers in front of his face.

Blinking rapidly to clear his mind, Sherlock shook his head. “No. Not unless being drugged and whipped for a mobile is something you consider special.”

“And yet you’re married to your work?” She questioned dubiously.

“Uh… Someone left a note,” Adams said, holding up a small piece of paper. Glancing at the bottom corner of his, she added, “And it appears to be for Sherlock.”

Another feeling of nostalgia cropped up as he looked over the note. It was really nothing special. Cheap, easily gotten stationary, a woman’s hand writing, left handed judging by the smudges and a simple statement that said the house was theirs to inspect, because clearly, Irene had called before hand to clear out whoever it was that was playing her assistant now.

“Well, as we have the right to inspect her home, I suggest we do so, don’t you?”

“How did she know that we’d be here?”

“She knew I’d be curious and I’d likely take someone with me. It has nothing to do with knowing that House has no sense of personal space when it comes to his patients.”

“So, she just expected you to want to go through her things like some super stalker?” Adams asked. The placement of her hands on her hips said quite clearly that she didn’t buy into such a thing.

“Well, he is a detective. I mean, what are they if not a paid super stalker?” Park offered, not that Sherlock agreed with her idea of his job.

After all, it wasn’t like he often broke into people’s homes. For the most part he made more of a habit of meeting people face to face. Breaking in was merely another option when conversations proved to useless.

“I just find it strange considering how neither of you seem willing to explain how you know each other so well.”

“A man used her to use me to get at the government and to a lesser extent my brother,” he explained, already busying himself with taking in everything the sitting room had to offer.

“Right, because you’re like, what? A real life James Bond?”

“If I say yes will you stop questioning me and let me inspect in peace? Because the fact remains that something here could’ve easily made her ill and if that’s the case, we need to figure out what it was so you don’t wind up losing a patient.”

The way they both looked at him in shock wasn’t much of an improvement, but at least things were quiet. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a vicodin pill, popping it in his mouth quickly before going back to his searching. Something the two doctors began to do as well, Park with a rather amused look and Adams with an indignant huff. She was slowly starting to hate him, but he didn’t have time to worry about that.

Heading upstairs, he managed to get about halfway through searching her room before his mobile rang. Looking at who was calling, he was tempted not to pick up, but avoiding an issue was hardly his style and he wasn’t about to take it up now. So, however reluctantly, he answered.

“I take it you have a reason for this call?”

“Can’t a dad call his son to ask him about his quaint dominatrix friend?” House remarked, his amusement pouring out in spades as some sort of complaining went on in the background.

“She’s hardly a friend. She’s simply a woman.”

“A hot dying woman,” House corrected.

Closing his eyes, Sherlock allowed his mind to focus on the memory of her lying on that autopsy table, supposedly lifeless. Something that had been a convenient ploy at the time now seemed to be a very real possibility if they couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her leaving Sherlock in the strange position of not being able to contribute much to the case for once in his life.

It wasn’t often he found himself out of depth and he would’ve rather have gone the rest of his life without ever feeling such a thing ever again.

“I doubt we’ll find anything here. If it was environmental her assistant would be showing symptoms,” Sherlock said as he got up and began looking around in earnest.

A good enough distraction for House, who made some annoyed noise on the other line. “How often is the assistant around?”

“Well, judging by the last one she had, often. I was led to believe that it was a job with certain benefits.”

“Do a good job and get a playful beating for your work. Nice perks. There’s nothing in her office?”

Frowning as he mentally retraced the amount of doors he’d seen, Sherlock sighed when he realized what the other man meant. “No. I’m still looking though.”

“Well then, keep up the hard work. Oh, and nice score with the English dominatrix.”

“Married to my work,” Sherlock said, hoping that someone would actually listen to him.

House let out a small huff on the other end. Sherlock could practically feel him roll his eyes as he smiled saying, “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have an affair.”

A rather clever remark Sherlock would’ve applauded if not for the fact that he found hanging up to be the much simpler option.

Standing up once again, he sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat as he stared at her desk. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?” He questioned quietly, knowing that an answer was as likely to come from the room as it was from Irene.

“Hey.”

A bit surprised, he turned toward the voice quickly. Park stood in the doorway, mildly amused that she seemed to catch him off guard.

“You need help or something?”

“No. Odds are, whatever it is that’s affecting her isn’t environmental. Not if she’s the only one sick.”

“So what now?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.”

With that he went back to looking over her belongings, needing to at least occupy himself with learning what it was that the woman had been up to since leaving dying. It was unlikely that he would find the answer, but he couldn’t help but wonder what led her to America as well.


	3. Chapter 3

When the end of the day came, Wilson was actually pretty grateful. Not that he didn’t enjoy what he did, but going home and relaxing sounded like heaven, if he was to be perfectly honest. Just sitting around and maybe ordering in depending on what it was that Sherlock wanted. Not that he didn’t like the guy, but over the past few days, he had started to feel like House wasn’t the only one who had accidentally wound up with a son.

Stopping at House’s office, he was a bit surprised to only see House there, obviously contemplating something.

“Patient troubles?”

“He’s hiding something from me,” House blurted out.

Because while Wilson knew that House wasn’t always fond of visiting his patients, the man had already stopped by to brag about his hot, dominatrix patient. Leading to a conversation that had carried on into an early lunch since House was claimed to be feeling a bit hungry. And with House not currently meddling in the lives of his employees or Foreman, there was really only one option left for who House could’ve been talking about.

“House, I know you two have bonded over the past week, but you can’t expect him to tell you everything.”

“He knows her and won’t explain how.”

“Maybe he actually believes in privacy,” Wilson suggested. Although, the moment the words were out of his mouth, he frowned and corrected himself. “His own privacy. Not anyone else’s.”

House nodded as though he was listening, but Wilson knew better. Leaning back in his chair, House continued thinking. “Something happened involving him and her back in England. Maybe it’ll be on John’s blog.”

“Right. Well, you’re obviously ignoring me.”

“What? You say something?” House asked.

And instead of wondering if the guy was having him on actually that oblivious to anything but his own thoughts at the moment, Wilson nodded. “Yeah. I wanted to know where Sherlock is because I’m heading home.”

“Go ahead and leave. I’ll have him back home before curfew. Promise.”

Which was good enough, he figured. Not that he didn’t wonder about where the detective had gotten off to, but some things were just better left unasked. Instead, he just nodded slowly, immediately deciding to just order from the Chinese place he and House typically ate from since it wasn’t all that likely that House would just come over and not stay for dinner and hang out.

So with that he made his way out of House’s office and the hospital to the parking lot. Going over to his car, placing his briefcase on top of it as he searched his pockets for his keys. Finding them, he unlocked the door and grabbed his brief case once again. Moving to open the door, he was a bit startled when there was a hand holding it closed. Looking up, Wilson started to wonder if perhaps he ought to be a bit more worried that something might be seriously wrong. That seemed to be the only logical explanation for the two men on either side of him, both in suits and much larger than generally necessary.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No. Not us. We’re here to help you,” one of them said, smiling kindly despite his cryptic way of speaking. Nodding over to the car, he added, “You’re wanted in there, though, Dr. Wilson.”

“I don’t really have a choice in this, do I?”

The guy shook his head as he continued to smile. “Not particularly. Keys?”

Frowning, Wilson wearily handed over his car keys to the man. He wasn’t sure what exactly was going on, but he knew this was definitely beyond the usual House trouble. And if it was beyond the usual House trouble, it was a completely new realm of bad for Wilson. Not that it seemed to matter as he was led over to the discreet black car. Getting in, he frowned, wondering what it was that he had somehow gotten himself into.”

“You must be Dr. Wilson,” the man said, a purposeful casualness mixing in with the English accent.

Looking around the car as it started to pull off, he hesitantly nodded. “Yeah. Is there a reason you’re after me?”

“Actually yes. It concerns a man you know. A Sherlock Holmes?”

The relief Wilson felt at knowing it wasn’t House was quickly replaced by the fact that Sherlock was apparently going to be as much trouble, if not more than his father. Another thing Wilson didn’t exactly sign up for since the guy still wasn’t his kid and he shouldn’t have had to cover to protect either of them. Something he decided on reminding them both of sometime later when he wasn’t busy trying not to say the wrong thing in an effort to protect Sherlock for House’s sake.

“Yeah, I know him.”

“How well?”

Wilson shrugged a bit helplessly. “Not too well.”

“So you make a habit of letting strange men live with you?”

Clenching his jaw at the implication, Wilson tried to quiet the voice in his head that readily agreed with the fact since all he really knew about Sherlock was the fact that he was House’s son and very much like the other man, two things that easily made him stranger than most.

But with a small exhale, he shook his head, rolling his eyes a bit miserably at his situation. “I’m doing it as a favor for a friend.”

“Doctor House? Interesting,” the man said as he laced his fingers in his lap.

“How do you know about…Why do you care?”

Smiling at him as though he was some child who just asked for a pet unicorn, the man relaxed into the car seat. “I have what you might call a vested interest in the detective.”

“So you know Sherlock? Why not kidnap him?”

“I doubt he would come along nearly as willingly as you did,” came the smug reply. As though he had simply expected Wilson to play along with whatever game he was trying to get at. Cocking his head to side slightly, he said, “Besides, if I wanted Sherlock to know I was looking for him, I’d let him know.”

“Just give him a friendly hello from your local British Government?” Wilson asked dubiously.

Seeming almost genuinely amused, the man nodded. “Something to that effect. Now, why is Sherlock still here seeing Dr. House?”

“Nothing’s wrong with him, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s just…” Biting his tongue, Wilson silently debated the value in being honest with a man who seemed to be nothing but patronizing to him. “House and he have taken a shine to each other. Two guys who enjoy sharing fun stories about their complete disregard for societal norms.”

“You don’t have to be so defensive. I’m not out to do either man harm.”

“No. Of course not. That’s why instead of talking to him or House, you kidnap me.”

“It’s hardly a kidnapping when you go willingly,” the man pointed out.

And honestly, Wilson was really starting to hate the guy. “Who are you anyways? You know all about me and House and Sherlock but you don’t even give a name?”

“As I’ve said, if I wanted Sherlock to know I was here, I’d let him know.”

“But since you don’t you’re just questioning me for information about him? What, did he steal something, kill someone?”

Giving a terse smile, the man nodded towards the door. “I believe this is your home, no?”

Looking out the window, Wilson paled. Opening the door, he got out of the car and looked around, a bit unnerved to see the man he’d given his keys to getting out of his car. Government or not, Wilson refused to believe that people really behaved like this. It was made up of the sort of thing that riddled bad action movies he watched with House.

“All I want is information on Sherlock and his doings here. Something I’d be willing to pay for,” the man said as he moved to stand next to Wilson.

Looking over at him, Wilson glared. “I’m not selling you information on him. Now can I have my keys back?”

Letting out a rather bored sigh, his mysterious kidnapper nodded at the man who had apparently driven his car. His keys were handed back to him with a smile that Wilson didn’t bother to return. There was no need to be cordial to one’s kidnappers. Even if they did kindly drop him off at him. Instead, he merely headed into his building, waiting until he was safely in his home and those men were gone before calling Sherlock to see if he could give some kind of explanation for what had just happened.


	4. Chapter 4

He’d been standing outside Irene’s room since he had arrived at the hospital. It was really the only thing he could do since House and his team were busy trying to figure out what exactly was wrong with her and Wilson, well, he was more than a bit concerned with the fact that there seemed to be some shady individual’s after his houseguest. Something he had found rather amusing given the fact that yet another person had turned down what could’ve been a very lucrative payday because they valued him more.

“You can go in there, you know,” Chase said as he settled next to him, catching the detective unaware, not that he let it show. It was simply the idea that Irene was having that affect on him again that worried him most. “I’m sure she’d appreciate the visit.”

“I’m not her friend or family,” Sherlock pointed out.

Chase only shrugged as he gave that cheeky little smirk of his. “I don’t know. From the way she reacted to you, I’d say you two have some sort of connection.”

“Questioning me for House’s sake or your own?”

The Australian opened his mouth to answer, but Sherlock couldn’t say that he cared about that either. Instead, he walked into Irene’s room, deciding that a conversation with her might be useful to some degree. Although, the way she seemed to attempt to perk up as he entered, smiling in that sultry way of hers.

“Of all the gin joints in all the world,” she all but purred.

“Nothing more than a coincidence.”

“Quite the interesting one. After all, I know why I’m here, but you? Don’t tell me you’re dying again,” she said with a laugh.

Had he been in the mood, he might have seen the humour in the statement, especially given who it was that was telling him as much. Instead, he merely sat down in the chair next to her bed and frowned. “You look exhausted.”

“I’ve had a team of doctors running tests on me to solve my tummy troubles. You’d be tired too.”

“We found nothing at your home.”

At that Irene pouted mockingly. “Pity. I was so certain it was merely bad food.”

“This is serious.”

“As if I don’t know that?” She questioned. Chuckling to herself, she shook her head. “I am the one in the hospital bed. Though I still don’t know why you’re here.”

“Business.”

“Involving my doctor? Interesting business. Of course, I’m betting it has something to do with that almost familial resemblance, doesn’t it?”

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock nodded. “Yes, he’s my father. Now, what did you do in the days leading up to this visit?”

“I’ve already went over that with them. I did what I always do.”

“Fallen back into old habits?”

At that she leaned back in her bed and stared at him, a playful smile on her lips. “A girl’s got to have her hobbies, doesn’t she?”

“Your hobbies tend to get you in trouble.”

“You always seem to rescue me, so as long as you’re here, I think I’m rather safe.”

Resting a hand on her arm, he shook his head. “You’re ill. There’s little I can do for you now.”

“Always wrong. You can get me a doctor.” When he stared at her, confusion written all over his face, she only nodded at her and said, “I can’t move my arm.”

“Something’s wrong then.”

“Quite. Do something about this, won’t you?”

Clenching his jaw, Sherlock nodded before heading out of the room. Rushing to the team’s meeting room, he grabbed Chase by the arm and pulled him toward the door. “She claims to be suffering from paralysis. I assume that’s something you might care to do deal with no?”

Once again, he didn’t wait for a reply from the other, he merely fixed House with a glare before going to the man’s office. Everything was happening too quickly and Irene appeared to be getting much worse. And while he wanted to believe that it might simply be nothing more than a disease of some sort, he knew he couldn’t trust her. Which meant that the doctors who continued to make the mistake of doing so were bound to screw up sooner or later if she was hiding something.

Of course, once House walked into the office and sat down in his chair, a false look of surprise already on his face, Sherlock debated whether or not it wasn’t worth the risk to just allow them to continue on blindly.

Sitting down in what he come to think of as his own chair, Sherlock looked over House, unsure if he was making the right choice. Certainly nothing he had to say could actually have any bearing on the situation, but he knew how the other man valued all of a person’s history. They were details and even unimportant details needed to be processed. Or rather, that was what he told himself instead of admitting that telling the other man his view of Irene seemed to be a rather necessary evil. But as he clenched his fist a bit angrily, he still couldn’t bring himself to feel that it was right either way.

Thankfully, through all his inner turmoil, House just sat at his desk, eyes trained on his son for reasons only they could understand. To anyone passing by, or even to his little team, it likely seemed like House showing some patience and waiting to help. Sherlock took pride in the fact that the man was trying to figure him out before either of them were forced to say something, a game he liked to think himself better at since House had never had the benefit of a brother to challenge his skills.

“Irene used to work in England,” he started, finding that as good a point as any. House rolled his eyes, a sarcastic comment about how he never would’ve guessed such a fact on the tip of his tongue. Clenching his jaw briefly, Sherlock decided to spare himself such a predictable move. “Same career, except she had a habit of entertaining some very important people and would subsequently take photos of their sessions as collateral.”

“So you think this might not be a disease at all?”

“I’m not a doctor. I merely know that Irene has a habit of making enemies. Enemies that have wanted her dead before. Even had the American government after her.”

House nodded, filtering the news if the slight lowering of his brows was something to go on. When the man’s mouth  tightened, eyes slightly glossed over from his own thoughts, Sherlock knew that some kind of thought had been reached.

“You want me to consider foul play because of something else though. Something that has nothing to do with her.”

“Everything I just said had everything to do with her, if I’m not mistaken,” Sherlock shot back angrily.

He didn’t understand why the other man couldn’t simply go back to being happy with the fact that he had an interesting patient. Well, that wasn’t true. The reason why was in the way House watched him, less like a friend or whatever it was they were now and more like a project. Sherlock knew when he was being studied and no matter what he tried, he couldn’t seem to shake the laser like focus.

Frowning as he looked as he took in the calm demeanour of the other man, he knew that given three and a half days of distance and the right comments given to anyone but Chase, as the man was a bit too interested in how and why he had just appeared, he knew he could get House to consider Sherlock’s information without actually giving himself up in the little game they seemed to have been playing. But whether or not Irene actually had that kind of time was a variable he couldn’t calculate, as he didn’t know how fast the paralysis progress.

And in the end, Sherlock realized as he allowed his shoulders to slump in defeat, that’s what House was counting on. He had a risk up his sleeve that he knew would work because of how much Sherlock was allowing himself to care. Tapping his fingers on the desk, now more focused on getting over the loss rather than how to avoid it, he eventually nodded.

“Alright,” he said softly. “I only met Irene because she was blackmailing a very important person that I am not allowed to mention. It was a request and in the end, she drugged me and got away.”

“That’s not the point of the story,” House said as though he had been there and knew every important part already.

Given how focused on her he had allowed himself to become, perhaps the man did. Leaning back in his chair, he clasped his hands together, forefingers resting against his chin. “She was working for Moriarty. Her purpose was to get to me so I would solve a puzzle. I did and it wound up costing the government an ingenious plan to confuse some terrorists.”

“He must’ve been pissed,” House muttered with a rather wry smirk, clearly thinking himself clever for figuring out some part of the story.

“He?”

“Well, I’ve done a lot of studying when it comes to you, and while good.”

“I survived jumping off a building,” Sherlock pointed out.

House only rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed when he amended his statement. “Great, although I’m still pretty sure I know how you did it.”

Sherlock smirked at that. “Oh really?”

“The point is,” House said emphasizing every word in order to make the change of topic perfectly clear. “You’re not that good. Governments don’t just come to people without reason. I know.”

Which made Sherlock want to question what it was that House had done, as he could only imagine the importance of the case and the rareness of the disease that had led a government that likely made a habit of keeping brilliant minds necessary to seek him out. Certainly if he knew that, he would be able to quantify why it was he felt a bit more at ease over Irene’s stay at Princeton-Plainsboro.

“So there had to be a reason the government would come to you, and if you’re the black sheep of your family, there’s someone more acceptable.”

“I never said I was the black sheep.”

“And that someone would likely be the type to have high aspirations. Start off as a little boy who wanted to rule the world as much as he wanted to eat candy floss for every meal.”

“How long did this affair last, exactly?”

House only smirked, as he should’ve given the fact that he was the one with all the answers at the moment. “So, like I said, he must’ve been really pissed.”

Thinking back on it, Sherlock nodded. “A bit. Irene tried to manoeuvre her way into protection from then on but—“

“Yeah yeah yeah. You save the day. How?”

“I had taken her pulse before and knew that for all her claims to the contrary she had allowed her feelings to get the better of her. She cared for me.”

“That’s kind of anticlimactic. Geez. Girl likes guy she’s trying to screw over, guy beats her and still falls for her.” Sherlock immediately opened his mouth to contradict such a fact, though House intercepted his response by pressing the butt of his cane against Sherlock’s chest. “Married to your work, I know. Doesn’t change the fact that you like like her.”

“What are you, ten?”

“Sherlock and Irene sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

Knocking the cane away, Sherlock rose to his feet and headed out. He didn’t need to put up with House mocking a relationship that only existed in the man’s mind. It was far too much like the response he would expect from someone of his family, though a bit more immature and now was not the time he wanted the man actually acting like a typical parent. He wanted the man to be a doctor and just accept the information given to him, not that Sherlock had ever settled for such a thing in his own life.

“So what you want is for us to consider what might cause her symptoms that aren’t exactly organic, since that seems more likely than an illness?”

Stopping at the door, hand resting on top of the doorknob, he took a deep breath before nodding. “Yes.”

“Tell me why and I’ll do it.”

“No, you’re going to do it regardless because you have to solve the puzzle now that there’s a chance it may not be an illness. Your case just got more interesting than my relationship to her,” Sherlock stated, never once looking back at the man.

Not that he actually had to. No, he could practically feel the man smiling behind his back as he said, “It’s fun having you around. Can’t believe I missed out on thirty years of this.”

Which was all the dismissal Sherlock needed as he headed out of the room to go find the team. House would likely rather talk to them and he wasn’t done searching for a cause to what was making Irene so ill.


	5. Chapter 5

It probably wasn’t a good sign that he didn’t even blink when he came home to see someone lurking outside his apartment. It meant that the practice had become a bit too commonplace and that he should probably worry about his safety. But given the fact that the person leaning against the door frame was the very same person he could’ve sworn had went home with Wilson, he was mostly just interested in how Sherlock could’ve gotten there first. Getting off his bike, he tucked his helmet under his arm and went over to the guy.

“Learned how to apparate now?”

“There’s someone in your apartment,” Sherlock replied, making no effort to explain his little non sequitur.

Leaning over slightly to glance at the window, House looked back at Sherlock with, brows knit together in confusion. “And clearly if it was Dominika, you wouldn’t be stalling me.”

“It’s the same person who kidnapped Wilson the other day. He’s here for me.”

“You got Wilson kidnapped?” he asked, finding that to be the more serious matter since it was the first time he was hearing about it.

Sherlock only waved his hand dismissively as though it was an everyday kind of occurrence. “They kidnapped him from the hospital and took him home. Offered him money to inform on me. It tends to be harder to moniter a person's every move without CCTV.”

“Should’ve come to me. I would’ve said yes.”

Noting the serious look in the other’s eyes, House sighed. It was almost amazing how much trouble seemed to follow the guy around: dying dominatrix, mysterious Wilson kidnappers. And since he wasn’t the average man on the worst of days, House could do nothing more than go along with it all. Everything about Sherlock was just a bit too interesting to ignore, since it wasn’t as though he actually thought of the guy as his kid, even if he technically was.

“Don’t tell him anything,” Sherlock warned.

“My lips are sealed.”

To prove his point, he mimicked zipping his lips placing the key in his pocket.

Heading into the building, he handed off his helmet to Sherlock before pulling out his keys. Of course, when he found that the door was already unlocked, he figured that there might be more to worry about than he was actually giving Sherlock credit for.

Glancing at him, House frowned and put away his keys before taking his helmet. If he was going to be killed by someone trying to track down Sherlock, well, it would be more interesting than a lot of the ways he had risked his life in the past. Which was probably something worth rethinking later, he decided as he walked inside.

“Hello gentleman. Pleasure to see you’re both here,” Mycroft said as he put down his cup and stood. Straightening his suit jacket, he added, “Mummy sends her love.”

“Is that supposed to actually be news Mycroft?” Sherlock asked with a barely hidden sneer.

It was actually rather amusing, House thought as he put down his helmet. For the first time since he’d been around, the man actually seemed bothered. Sure, it was in a rather childish manner, but it was a side he hadn’t gotten to see and that added a whole new level of interest to him.

Smile never once wavering, Mycroft lifted his chin and said, “I wasn’t talking to you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked mildly put off at that, causing House to snicker to himself. It was nice to know that someone else could catch the young man off guard. Of course, to his credit, Sherlock recovered quickly. Making his way over to the couch, he collapse onto it, arms crossed over his chest as he regarded them both warily.

Walking over to Mycroft, House stared down the man before him. Certainly the suit wearing person was not what he would’ve expected the little boy he had known to turn into, but then again, he also didn’t expect to have accidentally given that same boy a little brother either. Even the smug glint in his eyes as he let House look him over was rather new and unfamiliar. Narrowing his own eyes, House frowned.

“You’re taller than I remember.”

“One does tend to grow up a bit over a few decades,” Mycroft pointed out. “You never got me that birthday present.”

House pointed at Sherlock. “I’d say that’s a pretty good present.”

“Debatable.”

“What are you doing here Mycroft?” Sherlock asked, cutting into their conversation with all the grace of a petulant child. “I assumed you were indispensable.”

“To a number of people. Hence my being here.” Taking his seat once again, he regarded his brother with a polite smile that did nothing to diminish the cool look of his eyes. “You must really like him to stay here so long.”

Sherlock only scoffed as he focused his attention on one of the guitars hanging on the wall.

“He’s been helping me with cases,” House offered as he took the seat across from Mycroft.

“Perhaps he can give your… associates advice on how to improve their method,” the man said, tone giving away nothing.

It was the kind of behavior that House generally liked to see in other people. There was no need to explain anything to either of them, both taking everything they needed to know from everything in the room. Not that it was hard to figure out that Dominika had likely let Mycroft in and given him tea before following what was likely a very polite hint to leave the premises for awhile. He doubted it was anything but civil too.

“Or I could just keep him around here. It’s kind of like having a pet zombie.”

“But hardly any use in an actual medical emergency like the one you’ve been dealing with.”

“You know about my latest patient?”

Mycroft waved his hand dismissively at the question. Leaning back in his seat he said, “I only know that you have one and that you treat the cases most doctor’s can’t. Only man of your kind.”

“Yeah, well, it’s easier to make up a job than actually try for some other one.”

“Something I’m certain Sherlock would agree with.”

Sherlock’s attention focused back on the two of them at that comment. Regarding his brother with nothing short of distrust, he asked, “Stop beating around the bush. You’re here for a reason, what is it?”

“Checking in on you, of course. I do so worry about you, as you know,” Mycroft shot back in a tone that could only be described as sarcastic.

“You didn’t seem to worry about the consequences of telling an evil mastermind all about my life could have,” Sherlock replied with a shrug.

It was probably a better cheap shot than any punch and seemed as though it hurt a lot more. Because while it was obvious Sherlock didn’t seem to care much either way on the matter at the moment, the brief look of guilt in Mycroft’s eyes more than gave away the fact that he’d probably never feel anything but shame over such a matter.

And even if he had never particularly cared for children or wanted to have any, House couldn’t shake the feeling that he was required to do something to cheer up the man that used to be the pudgy little boy he’d known.

“How’s your mom?” he asked out of nowhere.

Both of them seemed more than a bit surprised by that, which was probably fair. Certainly he hadn’t made any effort to find out about her in the time he’d been getting to know Sherlock. There wasn’t really much of a reason since he didn’t think Sherlock would’ve turned out any better with him around when he was growing up. But Mycroft, being the dutiful cleared his throat and smiled.

“Fine. Sorry to hear about your leg.”

“It’s a lot more bearable when I don’t have a kid around stealing my pills.”

“I thought you quit taking drugs, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked.

He seemed to be a much better fit for the role of parent than himself, House mused. The disappointed tone and exasperated looks, it made him wonder if hadn’t spent the past thirty odd years playing the part of the stern father figure. It certainly added up rather nicely with Sherlock’s indignant attitude.

Although, looking at his son, it was clear to see that any sense of childishness was replaced by a laser like focus as he tried to take apart his brother piece by piece. Not that it was doing any good. Even he had realized early on in their conversation that there was nothing particularly interesting about Mycroft. It was like looking at a blank slate and whatever the reason for his visit wasn’t going to be forced out easily.

“I think it’s best you answered the question if we’re going to move past it,” House said with a shrug.

Letting out a sigh, Mycroft turned toward his brother and stared at him with all the boredom and false pleasantness of a parent being interrupted. A look that House was mildly amused to realize that he had picked up from his mother.

“It’s a mix of business and genuine concern since you weren’t supposed to stay here getting to know your father. In fact, from what I remember you were in America because—“

“So terribly sorry. I should’ve gotten over the idea that mummy had me with some American days ago.”

“I didn’t mean that. All I meant is that you have a life back in England.”

“No, I don’t. Or don’t you remember that I had to fake my death because of a certain someone, Mycroft?”

Mycroft sat up a bit straighter as he took a deep breath. It was likely taking all he had to not make the wrong move in their little tete-a-tete. “While I’m positively thrilled you’ve finally come to the same conclusion I had when I was twelve, you have a purpose that he’s distracting you from. Your bonding needs to come to a quick and immediate end, Sherlock.”

“Stop kidnapping people and trying to get them to spy on me. It never works.”

“Yeah,” House interrupted. “No one’s allowed to kidnap Wilson except me, Mycroft.”

And whatever it was that the man was ready to say, it never came. Instead he merely nodded at House before rising to his feet. Straightening out his suit jacket, he gave that same polite smile to him as he held out his hand. “I’ll do my best to keep that in mind. It was a pleasure seeing again, Dr. House.”

“I’m pretty sure I told you back when you were six that you could call me Greg,” he said as he rose from his seat and shook the man’s hand.

Mycroft only gave a vaguely amused grin before looking at his brother. “Sherlock, be seeing you. Likely here given your shared interest in addresses.”

“Try not to fall off your diet for the fourth time since my death, Mycroft,” he shot back.

Mycroft made a soft noise, annoyance flashing over his features before he made his way out of the apartment.

Sitting next to his son, House rested his feet on the coffee table, arms crossed over his chest in a similar fashion. He stared ahead, processing everything that had just happened. “You were wrong,” he finally blurted out. “If he was here about Irene, he would’ve said something.”

“He thinks she died in Karachi because that’s what I wanted.”

Nodding, House looked over at the man with a slight frown. “Then what’s his reason for being here in America?”

Sherlock continued to stare ahead, trying to seem as though he was focused on something only he could see. It was all an act, the slight crease of his brows and clarity of his eyes giving away his secret more than anything else.

Taking a frustrated breath, he shook his head slightly. “I don’t know. Whatever it is though, it can’t be good. Nothing involving him ever is.”

“Well, that’s a refreshing thought,” House said before letting silence overtake them once again, both of them staring at nothing as they tried to work out the numerous reasons that would lead a man like Mycroft to going abroad qith his particular brand of services.

He knew he wasn’t likely to figure it out, but looking out the corner of his eye at Sherlock, House was fairly certain that he wouldn’t have to. It was all just a matter of figuring out what Sherlock knew. Not that that was an easier task, but he had more access to the other man and knew for a fact that Wilson wouldn’t think twice about selling out Sherlock to him. After all, Mycroft using people like that was being overbearing, but House doing it? That was just a simple case of parental concern, something Sherlock seemed to warrant in spades.


	6. Chapter 6

Leaning back in his chair, House watched Wilson consulting one of his little cancer patients. As usual, the person seemed to be taking it far better than a person with cancer seemed like they would, but that was just Jimmy’s special talent wasn’t it? He watched as they nodded, posture not nearly as tense as it could’ve been before rising up and shaking Wilson’s hand. It was almost sickening how good the man seemed to be.

And then the patient was gone and Wilson was just sitting at his desk, working on something that House really didn’t care about. All that mattered was the fact that Wilson was free. Getting up, he made his way to the man’s office as quickly as he could, offering only the slightest of knocks as he walked in so that Wilson wouldn’t sit there trying to ignore his presence.

Taking a seat, he frowned at his friend. Wilson’s response was to look confuse, constantly matching the way House lowered his brows more for emphasis by letting his own rise higher. When neither was possible anymore, he shrugged.

“Are you trying to kill me with your laser vision?” Wilson questioned, obviously not understanding just what the issue at hand was.

“You were kidnapped. After all our lessons on stranger danger, you didn’t even tell me.”

Eyebrows falling back to their normal position, Wilson held up his hands in defeat. “I’m sorry. I was just afraid to tell you that the bad men touched my private-zone.”

Which wasn’t a funny remark, House had to remind himself as he sat there biting at the inside of his lip. It was a distraction that Wilson was hoping he’d fall for to avoid the serious conversation about how his friend let himself be kidnapped by some mysterious men in suits.

“You were kidnapped,” he repeated to keep himself on track. “About something concerning my son.”

“House, it was nothing. I’m sure if Sherlock was staying with you, they would’ve taken you instead.”

“Didn’t have to. Showed up at my place,” he said with a shrug.

Something that Wilson didn’t seem to care for given the surprised and concerned look on his face. “Wait, what? When did this happen?”

“Other day. Really, though, it’s no big deal. He didn’t even want to touch my happy place,” House scoffed as he crossed his arms over his chest like an angry teenager.

“But Sherlock was supposed to be with you. That guy, the English one, he was--”

House waved off the comment as though it was nothing. “Concerned.”

“Is that the word they’re using for it now?” Wilson shot back, rolling his eyes.

“No, he really is concerned. He’s Sherlock’s brother Mycroft.”

Which seemed to be more than enough to make Wilson stop and stare at him. If he was confused before, he had to be feeling completely lost as he stared at House with something akin to disbelief. Not that House could blame him. After all, it’s not like they looked particularly similar, although, that was probably more his fault than he would care to think about considering the two men only shared the same mom. Sitting up, House grabbed one of the pens off Wilson’s desk and twirled it, needing something to distract him from his own mind while he waited for Wilson’s to begin working once again.

Thankfully, it was easy to spot when Wilson caught onto things again. He furrowed his brows as though he was trying to figure out a difficult problem before shaking his head, frowning deepening each time until he was shaking his hands as well, as though that would get rid of the thoughts in his head.

“No. That can’t be. I mean, he didn’t want Sherlock to know he was here.”

“Right. Which is why he kidnapped the man Sherlock was living with knowing that you might tell Sherlock all about it. Totally masterful way of keeping a secret,” House replied sarcastically.

“Why not just tell Sherlock himself? Why the middle man?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

“And what about the big guys in the suits and the government like black sedan?”

House stared at Wilson, obviously a bit bored with all the predictable questions. “I’m going to go with the fact that he works the government.”

“Whose?”

“Theirs. And ours. And… He’s got his fingers in a lot of cookie jars according to Sherlock,” House explained with a smirk.

Wilson nodded, going along with the conversation because it was probably easier than trying to sort out the strange connections. “And he uses these connections to spy on Sherlock and generally act like some Bond villain?”

“He’s not a Bond villain. He just likes kidnapping people and coercing his way into places and…” House let that thought trail off as he looked at Wilson. Eyes widening in realization, he said, “Oh my God! Maybe he is a Bond villain?!”

“That’s not funny, House. I was kidnapped!”

“He could want to kill Sherlock for knowing too much.”

“Fine. You make jokes, I’m getting back to work,” he said before turning his attention to his laptop.

“Maybe he found you through one of your ex wives? Wilson, he could be planning to take us all out.”

“Of course. Take out my ex wives after getting them to give me up so I’d give up Sherlock. He probably even pulled the usual move of taking them to dinner and politely poisoning their tea,” he remarked before giving up on the idea that he’d achieve anything with House still sitting there. Running a hand through, his hair, he shook his head tiredly.

“Look, maybe the villain thing was going a bit far, but why couldn’t he just call Sherlock? Why kidnap me? Why offer me money to spy on his brother? I get that Sherlock isn’t the most normal guy. He’s pretty much a younger you, but even you would respond to a phone call. It’s not too much to think that men in black and government cars is excessive and showy.”

“No wonder it wasn’t in her house,” House said distractedly.

“And since you’ve clearly been off in your own mind solving a case, you’re going to get up and leave now to give a miraculous diagnosis.”

“He was right.”

Getting up, House looked at Wilson, who was calmly typing away at his computer and made a mental note to test the man’s new found ability to actually accomplish anything in his presence since there was no way Wilson had gotten good at ignoring him. Of course, that would still have to wait for later, he remembered as he made his way out of the office.

When he got to Irene’s room, he wasn’t particularly surprised to find Taub and Adams there. It was clear that something had happened, but he didn’t particularly care about what. Irene’s eyes had followed him from the moment he walked into the room and that was really all he needed. Well, that and the man in watching from the corner of the room.

“Jeeves here was right about you, Ms. Adler,” he stated with a mocking look of surprised as he gestured toward Sherlock.

“House, this isn’t really the best time,” Taub said. “Kind of just had to put her on a ventilator?”

“That’s cool. I don’t need her to speak.” Looking at Irene, he said, “Jut look really impressed when I’m done talking.”

“What’s killing her?” Sherlock asked, proving at least one person was interested in his diagnosis.

“Poisoning. Probably from someone you pissed off, most likely from someone you ate with since I doubt there’d be vomiting if you were just vain enough for botox.”

“She has botulism poisoning?” Adams asked, clearly surprised.

“Kind of appears that,” House replied. “Paralysis, vomiting, respiratory failure?”

 Going over to her, he gently lifted her eyelids before letting them fall back into their drooped position. “See, that tired look in your eyes wasn’t from being tired. It was because you were losing the ability to control your muscles,” he explained rather happily.

“We didn’t find anything at her house, though,” Adams pointed out.

“It would be nothing for her to meet with a potential client or someone she already knows. They could’ve did this to her without her even noticing,” Sherlock explained.

Rolling his eyes because he didn’t actually care for the interruption, House gestured to his son again and nodded. “Pretty much what he said, but imagine it was me. Goes better when others don’t interrupt during my big moment. Now—“

Moving away from the wall, Sherlock exited the room without a word. Nodding at Taub, House said, “Test her. When it comes back that I’m right, I expect full fan service. I have to go see what’s bothering junior.”

With that said, he made his way out of the room as well. Catching up to Sherlock at the elevator,  he jabbed his cane between the closing doors, glaring at the man inside when they opened again. Walking in, he stood next to his son, staring at the door until they closed.

“You were supposed to be impressed,” he said sarcastically.

“I was. Very. See? This is my impressed face,” Sherlock replied, pointing to the complete look of boredom on his face.

“Hey, my leg hurts from following after you. Don’t give my own routine.”

Sherlock took a deep breath before walking out of the elevator when it stopped. Instead of dashing off though, he calmly made his way outside. Bumming a cigarette of one of the nurses, he smoked it slowly as he took a seat at the first empty bench that they happened to come across. House popped one of his pills as he waited for the man to finish his smoke, knowing nothing was going to happen before then.

Stubbing it out against the bench, Sherlock exhaled the last bit of smoke from his lungs as he said, “Moriarty.”

“Which one?” When Sherlock gave him a dirty look for messing about, House only shrugged half-heartedly. “What? A lot of people have that last name. A guy who shot me had that last name.”

Sherlock looked him over carefully before saying, “You’re serious.”

“Yeah. A rather unfair deal since yours seemed more content to shoot himself, which is a good trait in a psycho.” 

“He killed a boy back in the 80’s by the name of Carl Powers. Used botulism toxin.”

“It’s a coincidence,” House said.

Not that he actually believed in coincidences, but it wasn’t all that likely that a dead man came back just to poison a woman who had happily worked with him before. Post mortem clean ups simply didn’t happen that way. And a coincidence, no matter how improbable, was far more likely than the impossible.

“He also assisted in the death a TV personality through the use of a fatal Botox injection,” Sherlock stated casually as he inspected the cigarette butt.

“He’s dead, Sherlock. You saw him shoot himself.”

“And John saw me jump.”

Looking over at his son, House asked, “Do you really think that he’s alive? That he managed to fake his death and is choosing now to come back and get revenge?”

“No.”

“Alright then.”

“But I also don’t believe that Irene, a woman who worked with Moriarty, just happened to find you when I was around and also, by pure chance, happened to be dying from botulism poisoning.”

And he was right not to. Certainly if his team had ever suggested a such a string of pure chances he’d prove how wrong they were and probably fire them for even believing that those kind of things just happened. No, there was something behind all of it and it had everything to do with Sherlock and Moriarty.

“You were here for a reason,” House blurted out. “What if someone else knew that?”

“I’d likely already be dead.”

“And since you’re not? What does that tell you?”

Flicking the butt away, Sherlock rose to his feet and sighed. “It means they don’t want me dead yet. The game is afoot, but I don’t what it is.”

“Don’t worry,” House said as he stood up as well. Resting a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, he smiled. “I’m here for you. You can even borrow Wilson if you want.”

Chuckling, Sherlock nodded in agreement. “I’ll keep that in mid.”

“Good. Now come on. There’s soap operas to watch,” he said as he led the man back inside.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all over yet again. Hope you enjoyed it.

“He was last spotted in the New Jersey area. He’s a suspected in the murders of three people and has been known to associate with dangerous terrorist organizations such as—“

Feeling his phone vibrate, he held up a finger to stop the conversation for a moment before pulling it out to see what exactly it was that required his attention. What he saw when he looked at the message was enough to make him smile to himself before looking over at Neilson with an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, but this is just the call I’ve been waiting for.”

That said, Mycroft rose from his seat and calmly exited the room. Phone lightly held in his hand, he made his way through the maze of hallways before coming to the office that had been afforded him for the duration of his business in the states.

His assistant was quick to look up, but made no move to say anything when she caught the look on his face. She knew that the entire world would have to come second to whatever reason it was that led him back to his office earlier than anticipated. So instead, she merely turned back to her computer, clicking away at the keys while he went into his temporary private sanctuary.

Sitting in his chair, he looked over the message again before calling the person back.

“Hello?”

“Hello, doctor. This is Mycroft Holmes. I believe you have information for me?”

“Right. One moment.”

Mycroft leaned back in his seat, listening to the sounds of shuffling and moving about. There was talking in the background for awhile followed by silence. Clearly his informant knew the importance of not letting anyone overhear even half of the conversation when people like Sherlock and House were around.

“Uh… Mr. Holmes?”

“Here.”

“Right. Uh… We cured the patient. It seems as though Sherlock was right about it being a poisoning.”

“He finally found that evidence he was looking for?”

His question was met with an almost amused chuckle. “No. House put together all the symptoms and matched it up with Sherlock’s poisoning theory.”

A simple enough to understand concept given both their respective brilliances. If Mycroft didn’t know any better, he would’ve easily written it off as the result of two geniuses working together. But that would involve ignoring the fact that Sherlock didn’t just leap to conclusions and that he knew for a fact that nothing had been found at the patient’s home.

“Why did Sherlock suspect poisoning if there was no proof of such?”

His informant cleared their throat a bit nervously. “I assume it had something to do with his knowledge of the patient. I mean, they seemed to know each other.”

Which was nothing more than another useless piece of information. After all, what Sherlock tended to lack in friends he made up for in copious amounts of acquaintances. Drug dealers, businessmen, his little homeless network. And while the latter wasn’t likely to come across the ocean for medical attention, the other two seemed just as likely to do that as they did to do something to get themselves poisoned.

Filing that information away for more consideration of removal from his memory at the end of the conversation, Mycroft nodded as he gave a small noise to prove that he was listening.

“What was the cause of this illness?”

“Botulism poisoning. It really seemed to bother Sherlock for some reason.”

“Bother how?” Mycroft questioned.

“House gave the diagnosis in his usual way. Lots of showing off and the sort and then, well, let’s say Sherlock didn’t handle it well. Next thing you know, Sherlock’s leaving the patient’s room and then House is going after him.”

“Which, I’m sure, was no easy task for the doctor.”

“Yeah,” his informant chuckled before sobering up. “I don’t know. He’s been here for a week and I’ve never seen him look that… Upset.”

Nodding, Mycroft sat up straight in his chair again and said, “Thank you, doctor. This information has been most useful.”

“Not a problem, Mr. Holmes.”

“Oh, and I’m sure you can keep this conversation between us, correct?”

“Of course. Just… There’s nothing wrong, right?”

“Why would there be something wrong? In fact, I’m certain that pretty soon, Sherlock will be out of your hair entirely and your services will be properly compensated for.”

“Alright. Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

“No, thank you,” Mycroft said.

Hanging up the phone, he steepled his fingers against his lips. With all the useless information deleted, there was only matter that was of his concern. Someone was trying to get at Sherlock using Moriarty’s method. The only difference was that where Moriarty wanted to kill people, this person seemed to care about openly imitating the man. A copycat that wanted Sherlock to know he was copying the world’s only consulting criminal. Someone who didn’t want to lives needlessly, but rather taunt Sherlock into another dangerous game.

Sighing, Mycroft knew what it was that he had to do. Getting up, he pocketed his phone and went back to the conference room, not surprised in the least to find everyone still there and focused on him. Taking his seat, he nodded at them all before opening the file there waiting for him. Giving it a cursory look over, he closed it again.

“It would appear as though our target has started to make contact with Sherlock.”

“What’s our next step, sir?” One of the agents asked.

Lacing his fingers together on top of the file, he said, “We wait until the moment is right and then we let him know of the situation he’s in.”

“And that’s it?”

Mycroft smiled, rather amused with their naivety. “If you want this to work, then yes. My associate at Princeton Plainsboro assures me that the pieces are all set up.”

Neilson smirked as he chuckled humorlessly to himself. “You expect us to trust that Sherlock won’t ruin this plan like he did last time?” He asked, obviously unafraid to make his dislike of using Sherlock known.

Clenching his jaw at the memory of botched Bond plans, he turned toward him and glared. “I assure you, when everything is said and done, this man will cease to be a threat and Sherlock will be back to taking out Moriarty’s web of criminals. Everything will work out perfectly. Just give it time,” Mycroft assured him. With a smile he added, “You, of all people, should know that Sherlock can be quite the threat when he wants to be.” 


End file.
